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I swear to God, Jim. If you fuck this up again, I will take her, and you won't find her.

As if he had any right to the girl, really. As if Jim would care. As if he'd even notice. He wouldn't bat an eye if both of them just vanished.

He certainly hadn't told her school anything.

Sebastian Moran had half expected to be turned away at the gate. Not because Jim didn't trust him with Becky but out of spite. Either for the fight itself or for leaving in the middle of the night and not coming back. He'd texted Becky, though, just after he left. Made sure she knew where he was going and that she could call or text him at any time of the night if she needed him.

He couldn't be in the penthouse with Jim... not after heavy snogging (nice) and foreplay (very nice) had led to a callous remark about the time he'd spent away (mood dead). He wasn't proud of how they'd fought. He'd tried to keep quiet, but just a few things had been said by the mastermind that had him shouting. He'd even slammed Jim into a wall at one point.

Because... well. If Jim wanted to hurt him? Rip his heart out? Crucify him? Fine. He was a soldier. He could take torture. But he wasn't going to let him hurt that little girl. Even just by saying the wrong, heartless thing.

But. At the gate of her school, he'd shown his ID, been checked against a list, and let in to pick her up. Homework be damned, they weren't going straight to the penthouse. No... He knew just where to take her. Just for a few hours.

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It had been a bad day.

For Sebastian, all the signs would be there--the way she walked stiffly down the steps, her arms wrapped around her books and her chin high. The way her eyes were like ice even as she stalked past a frustrated looking instructor. The way she didn't say a word as she slid into the backseat. No doubt there was at least one note tucked away in her bag, quietly and carefully describing the behavior of one Becky Moriarty for the day.

She was tired. She was mad (even if she couldn't have said at exactly who or why).

But she'd never doubted that Sebastian would be there to pick her up. He always was.

Her appearance was impeccable. Her hair was split into two neat braids, and her uniform perfectly pressed. If James hadn't made sure of it himself, he'd at least taken the time to make sure somebody else did...though whether that was out of affection for the girl or out of his own need to keep up appearances was anyone's guess.

Crossing her legs at the ankles, she hugged her backpack to her chest like a security blanket and glared up at the rear view mirror.]

If he'd been anywhere else, he'd have given the displeased au pair glaring at him a "Fuck you." But the last thing he needed was a 'chat' with the security guards. He didn't even know why the teenager pissed him off. Probably because she was a teenager and was looking at him with disdain. Likely, she looked after one of the kids Becky didn't like. Hell if he cared.

He resisted the urge to smoke a cigarette, too, and instead got in the car. He saw the glare in the mirror as he adjusted it and knew that he was in the doghouse.

Her father better be too, damn him. If he was taking the whole heat for this...

But if she wasn't in the mood, then he wouldn't push. He'd let her dictate this much.

"Straight home?"

Home meant homework and James and dumb apologies. Not from her father, of course. He never apologized. But from Sebastian, after enough hours had passed and he tried to make up for what James couldn't.

Her jaw set, and she turned her head to stare at the window rather than meet his gaze in the glass.

"No."

Getting her to smile was going to be a bit of an uphill battle, though.

"Got an idea, then."

He doesn't elaborate further. He also doesn't pick up his phone.

He will in an hour, probably. It's not like James will care. He's probably so engrossed in his work that he doesn't even know what time it is. He can spend hours in front of a computer and think it's been minutes. Usually, like clockwork, Sebastian texts the moment Becky's in his charge. But today...

He knows James won't worry. Won't think he's made good on his threat. He doesn't think about either of them enough to consider it. Doesn't care enough to worry.

So he'll text later. Or maybe. Just maybe. Jim will surprise him. Maybe he'll text. Want to be sure he's got Becky. Know she's safe.

He doesn't let himself think too much about that as he turns off the access road to the school and onto a main one, actually heading for a highway.

She's quiet, staring out the window at the cars they passed. She wasn't a chatty child, but normally she would have been filling the silence with at least some tidbit about her day.

Not when she was angry, though.

Still, she didn't make demands and she didn't seem like she was about to pick a fight. For Sebastian, it would be good news.

For interactions with James later...well...probably not so much.

He doesn't make a call, and he doesn't send a text. He just puts on music she'll like and he can stand. For almost two hours. He could make it in shorter, but when Becky's in the car, speed limits aren't negotiable.

He stops the car finally, after about fifteen minutes of a whole lot of nothing around. He gets out and opens the back door for her.

"C'mon. I want you to see something."

Slowly, the drive and the music had soothed her enough that her sour look had mostly faded. She still hadn't spoken up, but she didn't seem ready to throw a temper tantrum.

He got a definite look, though, as she slid her feet out of the car and onto the ground, frowning at the empty expanse around them.

"...There's nothing here."

"Five steps forward."

He leads the way, and it's obvious that the sound isn't the wind or something like that. It's the ocean, far below.

He points, though, to the horizon, across the expanse of ocean, where land can just be seen.

"That? That's France. You can see the Continent from here."

He'd driven her from London to Dover.

For a moment, she stared in the direction he was pointing, considering that hazy line. Then she looked up at him, her expression difficult to read--mostly because she hadn't figured out how she felt about it, yet. Or, at least, at this particular moment.

"Are we going away?"

Sebastian hadn't called. He hadn't taken her home. He hadn't apologized. And she'd heard him yelling.

Last night, she'd been furious with him for leaving. This morning, she'd been furious with her father for not stopping him. Now she just felt...

confused.

He looks at her for a moment. If she told him she wanted to go, right now, what would he do? Honestly, he doesn't know. He could probably draw out the money, find a way to hide the trail for a time from Jim. If Jim would even pursue.

But he waited. He'd waited for Jim to come back. And what would he do after they ran? Work a desk job? Go into business with organized crime? Where they'd see his little girl as a weapon against him?

...And what if Jim cared? Just a little?

He smiles. It's not a happy expression. If anything, he almost looks sad. But he smiles. And shakes his head.

"No. No, sweetheart, we're going home soon. Just... wanted you to see this place. My dad used to bring me here. Surprised me the first time."

Edited 2012-08-28 06:50 (UTC)

She nodded, a thread of tension unwinding from her thin limbs. This morning, she'd had all the righteous anger of a child to make her want to run away. From James. Maybe from both of them. But given a day or two, if not just a few more hours, she'd want to be home. She'd want the penthouse and her clothes and games and Sebastian's cooking.

And her father.

Looking back up at Sebastian, she reached out and slipped her small hand in his. "Did you go swimming?"

"Didn't even think about that," he admitted, but his smile was warmer now. "We'll bring swimsuits next time. And--"

He squeezed her hand a little, kneeling.

"One Friday, we'll grab a ferry and go to France. All three of us." If he had to drag James kicking and screaming, he'd make the man go. Maybe take his laptop and mobile hostage until he came and at least pretended not to hate it. "Spend the weekend."

"Katie said it's boring."

But it's almost questioning, the way her dark eyes are fixed on his, wondering what he thinks about France.

She didn't like Katie all that much, anyway.

"And it is."

His smile shifts, gets wider, and he leans closer in.

"For someone boring. And-- I know her family. Really boring."

That got a smile, her measuring look disappearing to reveal the girl beneath. Just a ten year old girl.

Satisfied, she turned her gaze back to the ocean. "I want to make sandcastles. Mrs. Abram brought in pictures of fancy ones for an art project. With turrets. I want one of those."

...because that was going to happen.

"I've never been very good at sandcastles, but we can try, can't we?"

He laughs a little and comes out of his kneel. It'll be a bit rough, going down. This isn't the ideal spot for it. But it's just tricky, not dangerous. He'll be fine, and he can guide her, carry her if he has to. He doesn't feel like getting into the car again.

...And, as he stands up fully, he takes his mobile phone out of his pocket, taps a few keys, then replaces it.

In rain or mud and (more rarely), snow, Becky was almost feline in nature. She hated getting wet or dirty. She sought excuses not to have to do anything that might mess up her clothes or her hands. But rocks and sand? That was something else entirely.

She doesn't need his help getting down. If allowed, she could probably scramble down to beach even faster than he could, the way she was willing to clamber over the steep surfaces. By the time they'd reached the bottom, there were grass stains on her skirt and her neatly pressed shirt was half pulled from where it had been tucked in, the fabric having snagged on a jagged point as they'd passed, and she doesn't even notice.

Her eyes are already on the pounding surf, watching the way it washes the sand smooth.

Sebastian follows her. It’s amazing to see her move here. To watch her really be a kid, not complaining about maybe getting dirty or wet. When he joins her on the shore, he grins a little.

“It’s kind of amazing. Just across this, not very far at all, is another country. People swim it, you know. The Channel.”

Which she probably knows, but it’s still interesting to think about it. The wet sand should work well for trying to make a sandcastle. He can already imagine how shaky the attempt will be, but, well, that’ll be half the fun. Learning as they go.

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